


59 Minutes

by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Actor Ben Solo, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathroom Sex, College Student Rey (Star Wars), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Film Festival AU, Fingerfucking, Inspired by Those Cannes Photos, Mild Praise Kink, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Intercourse, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, That Gets Resolved FAST, Vaginal Fingering, in a bathroom, like real fast, you know which ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 01:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19074481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryminded/pseuds/delia-pavorum
Summary: Shaking her head, she decided that it would probably be better off to end this encounter before she truly made an ass of herself.“As long as you don’t need anything, I’ll leave you to it.” She began to retreat, but his voice, quiet and deep, halted her.“Wait.”She paused, her breath catching, as she turned back to look at him.“I didn’t say I didn’t need anything.”Film Festival Volunteer Rey Johnson has an awkward run-in with famous movie star Kylo Ren.





	59 Minutes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slipgoingunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipgoingunder/gifts).



> I had an idea for a porny one-shot thanks to, in no particular order: a viewing of [Burn This](https://burnthisplay.com), the [Greg Williams' photos of Adam Driver at Cannes](https://www.instagram.com/gregwilliamsphotography/?hl=en), and a conversation I had with [slipgoingunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipgoingunder/pseuds/slipgoingunder) in early May. Then, in typical delia-pavorum fashion, it took me four weeks, two betas, three re-writes, and 9000 words to actually complete it. ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯
> 
> An extra special thank you goes out to my love, [voicedimplosives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voicedimplosives/pseuds/voicedimplosives), beta goddess, for telling me what I needed when I didn't even know I needed it. She responds _extremely_ well to me sending her crying emojis, complete with bad jokes and the words "help me" scattered in various ways throughout the doc and I cherish her for that and so many other things. 
> 
> This is also gifted to [slipgoingunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipgoingunder/pseuds/slipgoingunder), because if there is such a thing as a fandom soulmate, she is mine - and not just because she said some really nice things about me on tumblr last year and I subsequently forced her to befriend me, but because she is the best listener, idea-giver, cheerleader, moodboard maker, and friend. I am so lucky to have her that I wrote almost 10k words of bathroom porn to prove it to her. 
> 
> Also, she made THREE (3) moodboards for this trash before I had written a single word down and I don't deserve her.

* * *

 

* * *

Rey stifled a yawn with the back of her hand as she walked through the mostly quiet photocall area, post-premiere chaos.

She had mostly stayed out of the way while the press and photographers had done their thing, her sole task being to re-direct people who seemed lost (or were taking too long to leave). The celebrities had done their part and then had all crossed the street with their publicists and attendants, filing into the building for the showing. And once the celebrities were gone, the fan areas had dispersed without too much trouble. Now it was just Rey and a few members of the clean-up crew.

It had been the final premiere of the day, a late-evening event where the massive spotlights gave the impression of midday even as the sun set in the city. It was a warm enough night for mid-September and Rey felt a mild breeze tickle the cool press of sweat on the nape of her neck. The hum of the city remained evident around her – cars honking, people walking, the night beginning to awaken for a post-work crowd. She inhaled deeply through her nose, drawing the familiar scent into her lungs: exhaust from the cars, the lingering smoke of a cigarette since extinguished, the waning greenery of summer and, if she really stretched her imagination, the crisp promise of the upcoming fall. 

Realistically, she’d had no time to volunteer that year.

Currently languishing in post-secondary purgatory, she’d been a few courses short of obtaining her degree thanks to the time she’d occasionally needed to take off to work two, sometimes three, jobs. A necessary evil to help continue to pay for her education and the general upkeep of her life, but unfortunately it had left her a little bit behind the rest of her friends when it had come to graduating.

Thus, there was no room for _voluntarily_ doing unpaid work in a world when one worked part-time retail, commonly known as the seventh circle of hell; continued with an internship at the local rail-and-transit firm for what amounted to an intern’s salary (an oxymoron); and were taking night classes to finish up a degree in Mechanical Engineering and finally, finally moving on with her life.

A steady volunteer gig in her free time simply wasn’t feasible.

Except—

They had all volunteered at the film festival together as university students each year. It had been a fun way to get discounts on good movies that they were going to pay to see anyway and laugh at the chaos of the red carpet. Volunteering reminded her of those simpler times, when they had all been in the same city and enjoying the freedom of being unburdened by adult responsibilities (aside from crippling student loans, finals, and working multiple, low-paying, thankless jobs).

And if Rey had needed anything at that moment, with her friends all scattered this way and that, and her, the lone wolf, remaining back home – it was the familiarity of a good experience. Fond memories were necessary to break up the drudgery of her current life and Rey, who had always been a sucker for nostalgia (having so few opportunities to experience that particular emotion in life) didn’t have the willpower to resist.

Which was how she found herself impulsively agreeing to give up the remainder of her meagre free time for two weeks in September and why she was presently standing there, on a Thursday night, watching yet another premiere wind down. It was quiet now, calm, but there was a spectre of activity still hovering in air. A chill rose on her arms as the breeze continued to dry the dampness through her shirt, her adrenaline from earlier beginning to settle into a tingling, quiet thing that still sent mild frissons of electricity through her bloodstream.

It felt like the type of night where _things happened._

Immediately, she shook her head at her frivolity. She was simply so desperate for things to happen for her, the way they were happening for everyone else, that she was pandering to an overactive imagination she usually quelled; scavenging the farfetched possibilities of her daydreams in the hopes that something – _anything_ – would somehow change her life.

She scoffed.

Nothing ever changed. She should know that better than anyone.

Taking one final look around, she was satisfied to see that all, minus clean-up, had truly dispersed and things appeared to be wrapping up nicely. She supposed she should check on the other volunteers and ensure all was truly quiet before calling it a night.

She crossed the street quickly and walked the half block to the building where the movie was being shown. The lobby was empty and still. A thought occurred to her, then. Perhaps it was feasible to sneak out early? No patrons would need directing – a duty she took seriously, as (Volunteer) Patron Director – while the movie was playing. Unless it was to the restroom. And she could really use the extra time to study and perhaps even get some sleep before her early shift tomorrow.

She glanced around for signs of life: perhaps the full-bladdered waddle of a D-list celebrity? A member of the press who needed to get the boot? A coordinator or supervisorial figure who could get her in trouble—?

_Nothing_. It was all clear.

Decision made, she bounded up the escalator to the second story, walked through a long corridor of framed photographs honouring the history of the festival, previous attendees, movie posters, blah blah blah, and turned the corner at the end, intending to go towards the staff lockers.

As she rounded the bend, however, she came across a secluded sitting area, tucked away in one of the quiet corners. Her intent was to pass by and keep walking; truly, she wouldn’t have even noticed it, if not for one thing that caught her eye—

A patent leather shoe.

A man’s shoe. A remarkably large man’s shoe, the harsh spotlights in the ceiling catching on the shiny surface as it shook to a steady beat. She noted the finely rendered black wool pulled taut over each muscular leg, one crossed over the other, as her eyes trailed upward, mesmerized by the anomaly of those legs, that shoe, this _man_ in that particular spot.

The upper body that belonged to the interloper of the second floor seating area was half-hidden in the shadows, but Rey could see him tense, as though realizing he’d been caught. She waffled, a brief stumble in her brisk pace, torn between wanting to allow this man the privacy he clearly sought or investigating further, asking questions, ascertaining the level of security that was being breached and the actions that she was required to take.

Curiosity – nay _, a sense of duty, of course –_ won over as she slowed down before stopping entirely and turning around to get a better look.

Her eyes swept over the face that was clearer to her now from the angle where she stood and her breath caught.

She immediately recognized him as Kylo Ren, the famous lead actor of the movie that she’d just worked the red carpet for. She had, in fact, _seen_ him on the red carpet, though he’d moved at a quicker pace than most, posing for the bare minimum amount of time the photographers required, and then doing the same for the press. She wasn’t even sure she’d seen him sign autographs, though she knew from experience and hearsay that, although he never went full Clooney, he did his due diligence.

The only impression she’d had of him when she’d briefly seen him earlier that evening was that he was big. Unlike most actors on the red carpet who could barely meet her eye-to-eye even _with_ the heel lifts built into their shoes, this man was notably, formidably large. She had heard that he had a bit of a reputation on set – “hot-headed”, “intense”, and “method” were all words and phrases used to describe him – but on the red carpet, he’d just seemed—professional. Not overly effusive or exuberant, mind, but simply there to do a job and do it well.

Rey, for her part, didn’t often get starstruck. She liked to think she was above the allure of celebrity. All the years she’d been attending the festival, volunteering or otherwise, she had come across her fair share of famous people – some rude, some polite, some more straight-laced, some under the influence, most simply putting in a day’s work and nothing more.

Yet, for all the actors she’d seen, none had given her quite the same shock to the system that was experiencing with this particular encounter. Perhaps “starstruck” wasn’t exactly the right word – but there was a combination of surprise and—something more, simmering within her.

For his part, Kylo simply sat there, somehow exuding discomfort and hauteur in equal measure; the energy of a pacing jaguar in a cage – all sleek muscles and sharp, keen eyes, even though he hadn’t moved from his seated position. His simple black and white garb added to the austerity: he wore an elegant tuxedo with a crisp, stark dress shirt underneath, his black silk bow tie the only interruption to the white fabric. It was the type of outfit more fit for Cannes than Canada, but regardless of formality, one thing was clear: the man was made to wear formal garb. He radiated distinguished authority from his chair; a king on a throne.

Ultimately, it was his expression, mostly full of wary distrust and tinged with resignation, that snapped her out of her daze. Instinctively, she realized: whatever else she did in these next moments, she could not act as though his presence affected her in any way that alluded to his status as a Famous Person.

Clearing her face of all expression, she stood up a bit straighter.

“Anything I can do for you, sir?” She quirked a brow, unable to resist the next words out of her mouth. “Are you...lost?”

He regarded her, those big screen-familiar deep-set eyes dark and glinting in the sparse lighting. He pursed his lips, tucking them together as he exhaled deeply from his nose, which lay prominently in the middle of his angular, interesting face. His eyes tracked down her body, from her almost-certainly disheveled hair, past her shapeless orange volunteer t-shirt, lingering on her ID badge, before skimming over her black skirt, tights, and ankle boots in quick succession.

He uncrossed his legs and then recrossed them, this time placing the opposite ankle on the opposing thigh.

“No. I’m not lost.”

“You intend to stay here, then?” she pressed, unsure why she couldn’t just drop it and leave this man who so clearly wasn’t interested in human interaction alone. “For...the duration of your film?”

He gave her a tight smile, as they mutually understood that she knew exactly who he was.

“Yes.”

She nodded as though she understood, then went to take a step forward to continue on her way.

_If you go now, you can get out of here before nine_ , the voice in her head wheedled, trying to lure her out of what was certainly going to be a situation where she made a complete ass of herself.

Her feet, however, refused to cooperate.

“Why?”

As did her mouth, evidently.

His expression changed from mild distrust to annoyance. “I don’t watch my films.”

She considered that for a moment, before nodding. “I get it.”

“What a relief,” came the dry response.

She ignored his sarcasm and bulldozed on, the inability to shut up in awkward situations being a bit of a signature move for her.

“I mean, your face up there, _humongous_.” She stretched out her arms for emphasis. He did not look impressed. Nevertheless, she persisted: “Seeing _all_ the things you did wrong. Thinking about all the ways you could have done things differently. Did I mention the huge face?” She knew she was being unnecessarily obnoxious, yet was unable to stop herself from prodding him, just a bit.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, appearing stunned.

“You did,” he said eventually, “mention the huge face.”

“Not that it’s a bad face,” she hastily added, suddenly worried that she’d offended him. _Obnoxious and insecure – winning combo_. “It’s a good face— _great_ face. Looks very good...huge like that.”

_Excellent_. Perhaps, _now_ , a hole would open up and swallow her?

To her surprise – likely by some miracle – his wary disdain appeared to be melting away into something resembling amusement.

“A good face,” he repeated, his voice a low rumble as he regarded her with those panther eyes. The light amusement in his gaze did nothing to buffer the undercurrent of intensity that was setting her hair on end and causing her blood to pump just a touch faster.

This was a man that she’d seen on TV, in magazine ads. Had even seen a few of his films. And he had always been intriguing to her – more so on the big screen than on paper (two-dimensions did not do him justice.)

He was an amalgamation of odd features that, even separately, would not be considered traditionally attractive, but which came together to form an interesting picture; she’d always considered him as more of an expressionist painting ( _thank you, sole 100-level Art History elective_ ) rather than a living, breathing human being, yet her interest in him had always been purely observational. Impartial.  

Which is why nothing _—_ _nothing_ could have prepared her for his real-life presence, just a few feet in front of her.

He seemed to overpower the tiny – minuscule, really – seating area that they both occupied. Not just as a large man, though lord knew he was. But there was an aura about him that, although appearing sedate and almost unassuming, still exuded power.

She became aware of the fact that she was gawking. In an attempt to salvage her dignity, she changed tacks.

Clearing her throat, she asked: “Can I get you anything? While you wait.” _—for your huge face to disappear off the screen_ , her brain added, mocking her.  

“Are you waitstaff?” he returned, resting his chin on his hand. Though his expression remained unchanged, the mirth still danced in his eyes.

“What—waitstaff? Oh. No. I’m the Patron Director.” _Volunteer Patron Director_ , rude brain corrected.

Her feet had begun moving, unbidden, closer and closer to him. She hadn’t even registered what she was doing until she realized she was so close she could smell his cologne – something crisp and elegant, a warm masculine fragrance that reminded her of leather, a subtle sweet undertone to it.

_You’re drooling_ , rude brain intruded on her cologne-induced hypnosis.

“Patron Director,” he repeated, giving her a nod that seemed mocking without being cruel. “So, you came here, attempting to...direct me?”

She let out a short laugh. “Something like that.” She shook her head at herself, deciding that it would probably be better off to end this encounter before she truly embarrassed herself. “As long as you don’t need anything, I’ll leave you to it.” She began to retreat, but his voice, quiet and deep, halted her.

“Wait.”

She paused, her breath catching, as she turned back to look at him.

“I didn’t say I didn’t need anything.”

If her breath had merely caught before, now it expelled itself from her lungs entirely, until she was only a beating heart and a dry mouth.

She refused to speak at first, lest she continue to reveal herself for the blathering, stammering fool she clearly was and, instead, regarded him with a look that she hoped conveyed cool indifference, though the heat she felt in her cheeks must have told a different tale.

He remained stoic, calmly looking back at her, as though probing her thoughts and feeling confident with what he found there. She watched his hand move back and forth across that sulky mouth, a divot in his cheek belying his amusement. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat.

Never in her life had she had such a visceral reaction to a man. There was just something about his presence that made her feel so keenly _aware_ : the languid way he sat in the chair, controlled but relaxed; the intensity of his regard, as though able to read her every thought and sense her every emotion; the casual, physical way he interacted with the space around him – his hand never still, always moving to touch his face, or to tap a beat on the chair, or to adjust the leg of his dress pants.

Her fingers curled involuntarily into her palms in an attempt to quell the urge to reach out and touch him, adjust his jacket, run her hands through his hair and draw his face to hers—

Her expression must have shifted, because he seemed to stiffen, sit up straighter, look at her more closely. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the arms of the chair, loosely linking his hands together and letting them fall between his spread knees. A watch glinted under the cuff of his dress shirt, substantial and posh-looking.

_I didn’t say I didn’t need anything_. It felt like his words still hung in the air, wrapping themselves around her.

“Company,” he clarified, when the silence must have felt too stifling, even for him. “I wouldn’t mind some company.”

“I’m working,” she reminded him, understanding – as he must have as well – that she was not saying no, exactly.

“Volunteering,” he corrected.

She opened her mouth to respond indignantly, when she realized that the bright orange shirt she wore, with the word “Volunteer” splayed indiscriminately across it, must have been the giveaway.

“Right,” she concurred briskly. “Even more of a reason why they shouldn’t find me sitting on the job, let alone sitting with a—a—you.”

He nodded in slow, measured beats, considering.

“We could,” he said eventually, “go somewhere where they can’t see us?” His tone had been so benign, the words didn’t register immediately.

When they did, however, her breath quickened along with her pulse. It was an effort to keep her exhales steady. Her mind was racing at the implications of what he was saying; his second innuendo in under two minutes. She was equal parts intrigued and offended – did he really think he could use his celebrity to lure her to a hidden alcove and—and—have his way with her?

More importantly, did she _care_ if that was what he was doing?

He remained silent and instead just watched her; she knew instinctively he was assessing her the way she was assessing him. She glanced down at his hands again, still loosely entwined between his legs; there was a broad weightiness to them that showed their strength, but also a sort of ungainly elegance in the fluid way he moved them as he talked or gestured.

She imagined those hands on her body.

“How much time do you have?” she asked, keeping her voice intentionally clear, though her gaze stayed on his hands for a beat or two longer than she would have liked before coming up to meet his eyes.

Something sparked in his expression. He did a quick double blink that she found endearing – he hadn’t expected her to go along with him, she realized. Maybe he wasn’t as smooth as he tried to convey. Maybe he wasn’t as experienced in this sort of thing. The thought was both entertaining and reassuring. She felt her confidence grow, slightly.

He appeared to forcibly pull his eyes off of her, before shaking his sleeve up to look at his watch.

“Fifty-nine minutes,” he replied after a beat. He met her gaze once more. “I have fifty-nine minutes before I need to be back in my seat.”

_Precise_ , she thought, nodding slowly as she looked surreptitiously over her shoulder for a moment. They were still the only two people in sight. She looked back at him, chewing at the corner of her lip. He waited and she wondered if he was aware that he was literally sitting at the edge of his seat, those hands of his perched on the arms of the chair as though waiting for their cue to propel him forward.

She knew that could easily stop this now, end it here, move on with her night.

Instead, she thought about the feeling she’d had earlier, standing in the cool September breeze of the deserted red carpet. The electrical feeling in her blood.

_The type of night where things happened_.

She made her decision.

“Come with me.”

* * *

She pulled him into the small room and made sure to lock the door behind them.

The walk had been harrowing. Between glancing over her shoulder to see if they were going to be spotted by anyone, to questioning her decision every step of the way, to checking his face to try and get a read on how he felt, she was surprised she even made it to their destination intact.

It was his expression that had thrown her the most. Besides his initial stunned reaction and the speed with which he’d stood up once she’d told him to come with her, he’d maintained a cool detachment the entire time they’d been walking. She wouldn’t have exactly called it a saunter, but he certainly hadn’t seemed to be in any sort of _rush_.

She supposed it was best that they’d maintained the appearance of calm composure – it would have likely looked more suspicious had they raced down the hallway holding hands and frantically looking left and right to see if they were being followed.

Still, his calmness had the opposite of a calming effect on her. Instead, it was making her second guess everything.

Leaning against the locked door, she looked up at him. He was looking around, taking in their surroundings.

“Is this a…restroom?” he asked finally.

_Yes,_ okay, fine. So her master plan was bringing him to the fancy Family restroom on the second level. It was the closest and most convenient space where they could also have a bit of privacy – _and a door that locks,_ she thought, resolute in what mattered.

“Is there a problem?” she responded, arms crossed as she continued to stare at him. _It’s a_ nice _restroom, okay?_ Some people and their standards, honestly.

He ran his hand over his mouth and left it resting briefly on his chin as he looked around once more, exhaling through his nose.

Then, he looked back at her, his eyes appearing to capture every detail, from her mussed up hair to her wrinkled orange shirt to her skirt that had ridden up a bit on the quick walk, resting tight against the fleshier part of her thighs.

His expression darkened and his eyes ticked back upwards slowly, following the same path until they connected with hers. She felt like the air had expelled from her lungs – as though it had been ejected entirely from the room itself – as the hair on her arms stood on end under the intensity of his gaze.

_It’s now or never_. She took a step closer to him, right into his space, that masculine, sweet-smelling cologne invading her senses as her hands rose up to rest on his shoulders.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he looked down at her, lips tightening, nostrils flaring, and she almost lost her nerve, but in for a penny—

“Fifty-nine minutes, right?” she murmured.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Give or take—”

Standing on her toes she pressed her lips to his.

There was a heartstopping moment where he did nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Long seconds passed and she began to pray for the ability to perish on the spot, until suddenly she felt his arms move: one reaching around her waist, the other coming up into her hair, holding her steady. She rejoiced, relieved at the confirmation of his participation. His head tilted and she felt his breath against her lips in a heated pause before he captured them again.

Crowding her suddenly, his forward momentum propelled her backwards until she felt her back hit the restroom door. His hand at the back of her head protected it from bumping too hard, cradling it securely as he met her tongue with his.

The feeling of his mouth on hers electrified her. The second they’d made contact, a buzzing sensation coursed through her body. Never in her life had she been so profoundly affected by a kiss; she felt lightheaded, the space between her legs tingling as though there were a direct line from her mouth down to her core.

Sliding his hands down her back, past her buttocks, he cradled the backs of her thighs and effortlessly scooped her up into his arms. She barely had time to gasp, feeling the muscles on his back flex and her skirt digging in to the tops of her thighs as he carried her, before depositing her on the edge of the counter.

There was one sink in the centre of the long countertop. A tray holding a stack of paper towels – the fancy kind, thick, plush – adorned one end while a soap dispenser and a vase of flowers decorated the other. The countertop was clean and dry and looked entirely unused. Still, Kylo paused, before grabbing her around the waist and carefully sliding her off of it.

Before she could ask him what he was doing, he shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it where she’d been sitting. Then, hands encircling her waist once more, he hoisted her back up and onto his jacket. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, before looking down, agape.

“I mean—you can’t—that suit jacket must be worth—”

He waved a hand dismissively.

“It’s fine, come here.”

And he pulled her to him again, using one hand to cup the back of her neck and draw her close. The other slid past her hips, under her leg, gently encouraging it to wrap around him once more.

She hardly needed the encouragement, gladly bringing him even closer with her calf muscles securely digging into his bottom. When they kissed again this time, it was a slow, lingering caress and Rey had the absurd thought that it felt too romantic for a bathroom kiss with a stranger.

Kylo pulled back and brought both his hands up to her face, stroking her jaw softly with his thumbs as he leaned in to kiss her once more. The plush softness of his mouth was like a dream and she couldn’t help let out a quiet moan. His hands tightened on her in response and she grabbed fistfuls of the back of his dress shirt, the soft material clenched in her grip as she opened to him, stroking his tongue with hers, feeling the warm, minty freshness of his mouth.

Scooting forward a couple of inches, she perched close enough to the edge that she could feel the hardness of his erection through his dress pants.

_Fuck, yes,_ she thought as her body made contact with his.

He pulled away, pressing his cheek to hers with a groan, causing her to wonder if she had actually thought those words or, instead, had said them out loud.

“You’re Rey?” he murmured in her ear, kissing along her jaw. “Ree?”

She pulled back and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away slightly. How had he—?

He must have seen her quizzical expression, because he looked down between them and tapped lightly on her ID badge.

_Ah._ Right.

“Rey,” she confirmed dryly. _Ree? Honestly._

He was already nodding. “Rey, then,” he agreed, leaning in again.

She met him halfway, surprised to realize that she’d missed the feel of him in those thirty seconds when he hadn’t been kissing her and— _god_ damn _it, Rey, you can’t even do a one-time restroom hookup properly_? _Get a bloody grip._

But it felt so good, so damn good, and so right, all she could do was allow herself to be swept clear over the edge.

She ground herself against his hardness, needing the friction. Her skirt had completely ridden up past her hips and the only thing keeping her together was her underwear and a thin pair of black tights, both of which, she was certain, must have been obscenely damp at that point.

He pulled away from her and brought his hands down under her skirt, deftly hooking them into the tops of her tights and pulling them harshly down her legs, his chest rising and falling in deep, gasping breaths. When they got caught at her ankle boots, he tore those off too and tossed them behind him in one fluid motion so that they hit the wall and the restroom door, respectively. Grasping her bottom, he brought her up towards him once more, crashing his lips down on hers, their kisses becoming more frantic.

Desperately she ground against him again, barely recognizing the high-pitched moans coming from her.

“Jesus, Kylo, please,” she whimpered when she was able to tear her mouth from his, gasping as he immediately went for her neck, digging his teeth gently into her shoulder.

He rasped out something against her skin and she had to try and clear the fog from her mind to hear him properly. “What?”

He lifted his head, keeping it level with hers so that their eyes could meet. “Ben. My name is Ben. Call me Ben.”

She sat back to look at him, her brain unable to process this development. “But you’re—”

“I _know_ , I know who I say I am. Who _they_ think I am.” He gestured roughly towards the door, before bringing his hand up to agitatedly run it through his hair.  

Although Rey was intrigued by the new name development, she couldn’t manage to keep her eyes from lingering as his shirt pulled taut against his broad, defined chest and, when she glanced lower, she could see his straining hard-on through the fine material of his pants.

_Shameless_ , she admonished herself, even as her tongue touched her lips unconsciously.

He noticed and groaned, eyes shuttering as he came closer to her once more, taking her face in his hands. He leaned in slightly and she felt her body meet his, as though magnetized.

“My real name is Ben,” he said finally, looking at her lips and then back up at her eyes. “I want you to call me Ben.”

She was already nodding, convinced that she was going to die if he didn’t kiss her in less than five seconds, whatever his name was. “Yes. Okay. _Ben_. Be—”

He pulled her to him and their lips met so forcefully that their teeth clacked together, but she didn’t care, she didn’t care about any of it, except the need to experience the feeling of him inside her. Never in her life had she felt this wild, this out of control. It was as though her body were grasping at nothing, contracting in the precursor to the orgasm it knew was imminent, if only he _would just_ —

She grasped his trousers and began to tug at his belt, almost succeeding at taking it off, before he moved her hands away. She had to bite her lip, hard, to contain the whimper. Even then, she wasn’t entirely successful.  

“Wait, wait—” He ran his hands up her bare thighs and she watched as they virtually engulfed her legs on their ascent. It was very rare that a man was able to make her feel diminutive, but with Kylo – _Ben_ , she reminded herself – she felt practically pocket-sized.

His thumbs met over her mons and she was certain he could feel her literally vibrating in anticipation.

“Ben—” she whispered, a half-broken plea.

He stared down at where his hands lay, mesmerized. “This,” he said, stroking her through the damp fabric, eliciting the whimper that she’d tried to contain before and couldn’t hold in any longer.

“Oh—” he groaned, as he continued to stroke up and down. “How wet are you for me?” He looked up at her, one hand clenching her thigh, the other cupping her mound. “How wet is it—here?”

His finger slipped in through the side to stroke at her bare skin and they both moaned at the contact.

“Jesus—my god, Rey. My _god_.” He brought both hands up to the elastic waistband, tearing them down her legs and off, then brought his hand back up to stroke her.

“Ben, Ben,” she chanted, throwing her head back as his thumb rubbed in rhythmic strokes against her clit. She braced her hands on the counter and felt her head touch the mirror behind her. She spread her legs wider, too brazen and wild now to care.

His own frenzied devotion helped enormously with her wantonness – he looked like he wanted to devour her whole. Like she was the loveliest and most incredible thing he had ever seen. It made her feel lightheaded, this feeling of being so adored, so—so _wanted_.

“ _Yes_ ,” he gritted out, stroking faster, bringing his other hand to run his large finger up and down her liquid slit. She could feel her wetness pooling down her body, collecting underneath her. “Never have I seen such a pretty—” He bit off his next word with an indecipherable grunt and kept his eyes trained to her body.

His finger found her entrance and he began to push in and out in shallow thrusts. Replacing his thumb with the palm of his hand, he stroked her clit simultaneously, continuing to pump in and out with his one, broad, index finger.

She felt herself growing more and more heated, her chest heaving in gasping, sobbing breaths as her hands grappled for purchase on something—anything. One found the shoulder of his shirt, the other found the stack of paper towels. She ground down on his finger – _fingers_ , where had that second one come from? – and felt a pinching pain that only provoked a greater pleasure to build inside of her. It was ludicrous, he had barely entered her – with his hands at that – and she didn’t even _know him_ besides, and honestly, it usually required much, _much_ more time to get—there. She couldn’t possibly be about to—this wasn’t—

“Oh my god, ohhh, _oh_ —!”

Her orgasm hit her like a brick wall, stars exploding behind her tightly closed eyelids, and she felt like she’d almost blacked out for a moment. Her head fell back against the mirror and she was barely aware of him grabbing her and pulling her closer to him, one hand placing her head on his shoulder, the other hand still between her legs, as her body trembled from the aftershocks.

“Now—” She reached towards him, stroking through his pants, still barely recovered yet hardly satiated. “Now. _Now._ ”

She undid his trouser button and pulled his belt out with a whistling swoosh, allowing it to go flying until it smacked against the wall. She reached in, past his underwear – _briefs,_ _interesting_ – and grabbed him entirely, the hot, velvety hardness substantial and pleasing in her hand.

His head dropped back and he groaned out loud. “ _God_ , Rey—”

She stroked him up and down, swiping her thumb at the top of the head, smearing the precum down the length. “I want this—inside me—now. Now, please.”

He froze, body going taut in a matter of seconds, his hands moving to brace on the counter as his head hung down in a heavy sigh. “ _Fuck,_ ” he muttered.

“Fuck what?” she breathed, her mind completing the sentence for her: _Me. Me. Me._

He looked up and the look in his eyes gave her pause.

“I don’t have a condom. Do you?”

She felt the air leave the room and her body went cold.

_No_. No, she didn’t have a bloody fucking condom, of course she didn’t _have a condom_ , she was a twenty-two year old _volunteer_ at a film festival on a goddamn Thursday, _no she didn’t have a condom_.

Her brain railed against her, against the situation, against life, until it just—

Stopped.

Taking a deep breath, she looked back at him, calmly.

“No. I assume you don’t?”

“I don’t,” he confirmed grimly. “I didn’t think—well. Regardless. We’re here now. And I don’t have anything.”

She put both her hands on his shoulders and waited until he met her eyes. She was sitting on his exorbitantly-priced designer suit jacket, now stained with her bodily fluids, her skirt hiked up around the waist of her obscenely orange t-shirt. She was shoeless. In a restroom. She was certain her hair and what little makeup she’d put on that afternoon were both an absolute abomination.

And she was going to make this _happen_.

“I am not—” she began and then stopped. Trying again, she continued: “I do not find myself in these types of situations often. Or at all.” She took a deep breath. _Truth time_. “I’ve not had sex in almost two years. I’ve been tested since then, as one does. I’m—clean.” She made a face. “I hate saying it that way. But that’s the only way I can be clear without being too clinical.” Weighing her options for a second, she tried again. “I’m...disease-free? No, no. That’s worse. Let’s stick with clean.”

Pausing finally (blessedly), she hazarded a glance over at him. His expression hadn’t changed throughout her entire speech. He continued to take deep, even breaths through his nose, chest rising and falling steadily.

She tried again: “Can you...say the same?”

He didn’t answer for a moment and she began to panic. Maybe this type of riskiness was a deal-breaker? Maybe he didn’t believe her? Maybe he _wasn’t_ clean and she was just going to have to deal with—with scabies or some other horrid STI that she didn’t deserve, probably. Maybe he was about to lie to her. She bit her lip and waited, her hand absurdly still wrapped around his cock that had – incredibly – remained hard.

“Um—” He cleared his throat. “I’m clean. I’m clean, too. I don’t do this—sort of thing. Either.” For not the first time, she noticed a crack in his self-assured facade. He seemed to be unmoored – at a loss with how to regain his composure in light of this Serious Discussion. Running a hand through his hair – she noticed how it trembled slightly – he swallowed and tried again.

“I don’t want to put you—you can say no,” he finished finally. “Obviously.”

_Oh, hell yes_. She silently celebrated, while keeping her face impassive.

“I think we’re both trustworthy adults in a consensual situation here. If you are being dishonest, which I doubt, but I suppose there is a chance, I will tell every news outlet I can find that Kylo Ren gave me the clap. Agreed?”

He looked shocked for a second before nodding slowly.

“Also, I am on the pill so there is no risk of—anything else.” She nodded resolutely. “This has been a worthy interruption, sir. Shall we commence?” She gave his cock an experimental squeeze. It twitched its approval.

He winced into a lopsided smile, his eyes warm as they regarded her. Instead of answering, he leaned in to kiss her again and they stoked the fires back up slowly, lazily, as if they had all the time in the world.

Brushing his hands against her waist, he untucked the offensively orange shirt before slipping them underneath. His fingers skimmed across the bare, sensitive skin of her ribcage and she felt goosebumps rise up at the sensation.

Moaning softly, she leaned into him and his lips brushed against her forehead, sweeping across her hairline. The gentle, almost reverent quality of it felt so achingly intimate she had to swallow past a lump in her throat, blinking rapidly. She pressed her nose to his shoulder and inhaled the starchy linen scent of his dress shirt mixed with the now-familiar redolence of his cologne as she tried, desperately, to remember once again that this was a one-night stand in a restroom with a famous actor – admittedly, a series of words she never actually thought she’d be stringing together, but an important reminder nonetheless.

Focusing on the task at hand, she wrapped her legs around him, bringing him closer to her as his hands swept past her ribcage to her breasts. He pulled the thin, lacy material of her bralette down and cupped her, massaging upwards gently. She could feel her nipples pebbling in the centre of his large palms, her breasts barely filling up the space. He pulled his hands back slightly, rubbing just the tip in small circles and she moaned and pressed herself more fully against him.

His trousers were half off, his erection straining out of the top of his Calvin Kleins. His dress shirt hung down haphazardly, a black bow tie perched at the top. She tugged at that first, pulling it apart until it loosened and then came completely undone, hanging down on either end of his neck.

“I don’t know how to retie that,” he protested mildly, as he allowed her to do it.

She shrugged and bit her lip, grinning up at him as she unbuttoned his top button.

Making quick work of the shirt, she opened it up and ran her hands across his bare skin, thanking whatever deity was responsible for the lack of undershirt beneath the button-up. His skin felt hot and smooth under her hands, lightly dusted with hair and a smattering of moles and freckles. Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him just underneath his left collarbone. He groaned softly and his hands sifted through her hair, tightening at the end to pull her head back slightly before pressing his lips to hers.

Her hands continued their exploration of his chest, brushing over his impressive pectoral muscles, trailing down his abdomen, watching as he involuntarily twitched at the ticklish contact, before bringing them around his back and pulling him in. Perching as close to the edge of the counter as she could, she pulled down his drawers and then reached between them, grabbing his steely hardness and bringing him even closer to the heated, liquid centre of her body.

He reached down as well and wrapped his hand around hers, helping her to guide him in. She looked up as she felt the tip prod her entrance. His brows were drawn in concentration, top teeth resting on that plush bottom lip. Her body grabbed and welcomed him, drawing him in further, even though her brain knew that his size would be difficult to accommodate.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she allowed him to tug her in closer, grabbing at her waist and hips to support her. He pulled back slightly and pushed forward again, creating a rhythm of shallow thrusts that helped her body adjust to the sheer, ridiculous size of him.

“My god,” she breathed, leaning forward so her forehead rested on his shoulder. She felt his hand come up into her hair and hold her there, while his other hand wrapped around her.

“You okay?” he murmured into her hair.

“Yes, _god_ , yes,” she groaned, moving her hips, trying to take him in deeper.

He took a sharp intake of breath and released it on a low groan. “Jesus, Rey, you feel so—” He withdrew slightly and then pushed in deeper still. “You feel so _fucking_ good, I’ve never—my god. _Fuck._ ” At his rumbled curse, she felt him bottom out as her body accepted him fully.

They stayed still for a moment, their breaths synchronizing, arms wrapped around each other. She shifted to tighten her legs around him and he moved one hand down under her bottom, his palm fully engulfing one ass cheek. Lifting her slightly, he pressed forward. She gasped, loudly, at the feel of him moving inside of her.

“Ben,” she murmured into his ear. “Oh, Ben, oh, Ben, oh—” She rocked her hips against him, finding a rhythm that worked. He quickly matched it, his hand still latched onto her, using her own momentum to sway her back and forth.

Already sensitized from her earlier orgasm, it didn’t take long for tingling pleasure to build inside her once more. She could literally feel him being enveloped by every part of her, making each time she moved an inevitable awakening of sensation.

“ _God_ ,” he bit out, his face buried in her neck, his motions becoming more erratic as they both raced towards the same precipice.  

“It’s good?” she asked, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Those _stupid_ words – _of_ course _it’s good, you nitwit. You’re here, too, aren’t you_? – that always bubbled up in the mouth of the girl nobody had wanted. The one who was never good enough. Left behind every time, no matter how hard she tried. All she had ever needed was the answer to that one question.

And now she’d blurted it out to this stranger. Inside her. In a restroom.

He didn’t halt his movements, but he grew silent and she felt her ardour wane slightly as her body grew clammy with humiliation.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

He tightened his hold on her, drawing her down into an embrace, her cheek flat against his shoulder. He leaned down and kissed the other cheek, his movements slower now, steady. The intimacy of the exchange – the cheek kiss, his slow, measured thrusts – caused her breath to catch.

“It’s good,” he confirmed softly, his deep voice low and reassuring without being condescending, the slight strain in his tone cluing her in on how difficult it must have been to moderate himself in that moment. “It’s good, Rey. So fucking good. You have no idea how I—how much I—” His speed picked up again slightly as he spoke and he cut himself off. “Put your arms around my neck.”

She obliged and he lifted her up from the counter completely, holding her tightly against him as he began to move her on his cock in earnest, creating a back and forth rhythm of inescapable pleasure.

“Oh, Jesus—” she cried, securing her arms and legs more tightly around him, allowing him to take over. “Fuck, _Ben_.”

“Yes,” he rasped against her throat. “ _Yes_. Do you feel that? That’s what you do. That’s it, that’s it, Rey, Rey, _fuck_ —” His hips stuttered and his vice-like grip on her tightened even further as she felt the space between them, the space inside her, grow warmer, wetter as he came with a prolonged cursing groan.

The feel of his release, his slickness coating her, was what finally sent her over the edge. Her cry bounced off the walls of the restroom and she tried to stifle it in his neck as an afterthought, her inner walls pulsating against him in steady, throbbing ecstasy as she came for what seemed like an eternity.

He must have gently placed her back on the counter at some point because she no longer felt like the ground was falling out from beneath her when she finally got her bearings. She shakily detached herself from him, pulling away her limbs which now felt sore and tired. She released a shuddering sigh, raking her fingers through her disheveled hair.

He pulled back as well, quietly tucking himself back in, lifting up his pants. He ensured she was secure, perched there on the counter, before he began wandering about, picking up the things that they’d whipped around the room in their furor. He left her shoes on the floor under her feet, discreetly placed her underwear beside her with a slight throat-clearing. Then, he went to pick up her tights.

Rey, for her part, was a mess. Physically – without a doubt. But mentally and emotionally, as well. She had just had what was _undoubtedly_ the best sex of her life. And it was in a restroom. At a volunteer job that she didn’t have the time for. Oh, and with a famous movie star.

Couldn’t forget that part.

She hopped off the counter and into her ankle boots, twisting this way and that to get her bare feet in properly while she tried to inconspicuously adjust her skirt to a more modest length.

“I’m just going to, er—” She gestured towards the stall on her right, tucked away in the corner.

Perhaps she should have been horrified at the thought of using the toilet in that moment. Maybe the Rey of two hours ago – the Rey who had no idea she was capable of being thoroughly fucked by a stranger in a restroom – would have been. But this Rey, the Rey she was now—

She clearly no longer knew shame.

She beelined for the stall and quickly did what she needed to do to ensure she didn’t end up with a UTI or, even better, an eventful walk home with ejaculate running down her legs. Coming back out, she went over to the sink to wash her hands and her cynical side was more than a little surprised to see him still there, holding her black tights in his hands.

“Um—” He held them out to her awkwardly. His shirt was buttoned up and tucked back now, belt on. His suit jacket hung draped over his arm, with no sign of any bodily emissions upon it, though that was just likely due to the way he’d folded it. His bow tie still hung down, loose on either end. The only sign of his dishevelment aside from the tie was that his hair – once perfectly swept back from his face in precise, clipped layers – had a decidedly more mussed look. Still handsome – _god_ , was he ever handsome – but just a bit...messier.

She preferred him that way.

Blinking herself out of her reverie, she looked down at the tights he was holding and moved to take them from him.

“I—” he tried again, running his other hand through his hair, mussing it further. “They’re ripped,” he said finally, looking at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

She stared at him for a beat, before letting out a loud laugh that sounded just a tiny bit unhinged to her own ears.

“Oh—that’s alright.” She waved it off. “I have a ton. Don’t worry. Er—” Glancing awkwardly to the side, she noticed her underwear still sitting on the counter – a flashy, light blue boy-cut pair with lemons on it, arguably the least sexy undies that she owned.

“I’ll just—” She reached out and snatched them up, tucking them into her skirt pocket (a major selling point for the skirt at time of purchase, though she hadn’t realized just how handy it would truly be).

Ben went from politely avoiding the underwear to going laser-focused on her pocket in less than two seconds. “You just—you’re leaving it in there?”

“Uh,” she hesitated, unsure of what direction the conversation was taking.

“You’re going to leave from here—like that?” He made a vague up and down gesture with his hand.

Still not certain if he was judging her look or making some other sort of statement that she hadn’t picked up on yet, she continued to stare at him, hand on cocked hip, before glancing around the room as though the answer were painted on the walls.

“Fuck, Rey,” he groaned suddenly, and pulled her towards him, cupping her jaw with his hand. Their lips met and she sighed with a relief that she hadn't realized she’d needed to feel, before wrapping her arms around his neck and standing on her tip-toes to deepen the kiss.

After a moment or two, they broke apart, though their faces stayed close. He tilted his head forward until their foreheads touched.

“I’m going to be thinking of you walking around pantyless all night,” he muttered, a frustrated growl in his voice. “In fact—”

Before she even knew what he was doing, he’d reached into her pocket, removed the underwear, and placed it in his own.

“Hey—!” she protested lightly, laughing. “You freak.”

“I am,” he agreed, nodding, even as he pressed his lips to hers again. “I’m a freak for blue with yellow polkadots.”

“Lemons,” she corrected, moaning against his mouth as he nipped at her bottom lip.

He pulled back. “What?”

She cleared her throat. “Um. They’re lemons. Not polkadots.”

He simply stared at her for a beat before shaking his head and grinning, the full force of his lopsided smile directed at her, to the point where she hardly knew what to do with herself.  

“Of course. Lemons.”

He kissed her again, caressing her mouth with his, holding her tightly. It felt like a movie kiss, fittingly.

Like a goodbye kiss, maybe.

When he released her, she looked up at him trying to keep the sadness from her face. She gave him a smile that she hoped was sweet and not a tremulous grimace. He looked at his watch and she could _feel_ those last few seconds ticking away, before he made his excuses – “Well, this was fun” – and left.

She opened her mouth to speak, hoping to cut him off with her own goodbye before he could say his and, perhaps, maintain a shred of her dignity ( _fat chance_ ).

However, he was quicker: “Thirty-seven minutes.”

She blinked. Twice. “I—beg your pardon?”

He quirked a smile at her. “I have to go back now. The movie will be done soon. I figure, by the time the credits roll, I stay for a couple minutes for the Q and A, then sneak out the back—I can meet you outside in about thirty-seven minutes. What do you say?”

Her breath had caught in her throat as he spoke and she was unsure if it would ever release. So instead, she stared at him, dumbfounded, not even daring to hope that she had interpreted what he said properly. But—how else _could_ she interpret it?

“Uh—” She cleared her throat and tried to swallow. “I—”

He looked at her expectantly while trying – and failing – to retie his tie.

“I, uh—” she stammered, watching him as he fumbled with the knot, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Oh, for pete’s sake.”

Brushing his hands aside, she nimbly crossed the silky fabric over and under until she created the semblance of a perfect knot, smoothing her hands over it once she was done.

He’d quietly observed her as she’d done it and when she finished and pulled her hands away slowly, he looked right into her eyes.

“Is that a yes?”

She bit her lip. _Was this dumb?_ Probably _._ But—wasn’t it also exactly what she had hoped for? A night where _things happened_? She felt a shiver of excitement course through her; the unique pleasure of being rewarded for taking a chance.

Plus, he was smiling at her, all crooked and endearing. He no longer looked like Kylo Ren, the movie star she’d seen sitting in the lounge area at the start of the night, stuffy and aloof.

He looked like Ben.

So, she smiled back at him, excited by the prospect of more good experiences that may just turn into fond memories, and she said yes.

**Author's Note:**

> It's meant to be slightly (?) obvious that Rey is volunteering at TIFF aka the Toronto International Film Festival, because…write what you know? Laziness? All of the above? So, here are some TIFF facts (creative license also taken, please don't @ me) with some non-TIFF stuff sprinkled in there as well:
> 
> What is [TIFF](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toronto_International_Film_Festival)? 
> 
> Can you actually [volunteer](https://www.tiff.net/volunteer/) there? 
> 
> Wait, why did they have to [cross the street](https://goo.gl/maps/Qq9QPj2StsZmNgwF9) to get from the red carpet to the movie? 
> 
> What is that [building](https://www.tiff.net/visit/) where Rey and Ben meet, anyway? 
> 
> Why is a mechanical engineer making [art history](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expressionism) references? (Good question.) 
> 
> What kind of [cologne](https://www.fragrantica.com/perfume/John-Varvatos/John-Varvatos-2355.html) smells like leather? 
> 
> Does that bathroom actually exist?? (No link - the answer is no and don't look it up, just enjoy the smut.)


End file.
